


The Bottom Line

by track_04



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Power Imbalance, Protectiveness, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: "If things with Tim don't change, I'm afraid I'll have to get rid of him.""You're going to fire him?" Even before the words left him, Jon knew how stupidly optimistic they sounded."No, although that would be considerably more pleasant for everyone involved. Unfortunately, that's not how the contracts here work."





	The Bottom Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flammenkobold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/gifts).



> Thank you to Flammenkobold for your excellent request! And to [NeverwinterThistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle) for all your cheerleading and beta assistance. You're the best! ♥

Jon stared at the semi-circle of statements spread out around him on the floor of Georgie's living room. It was the third day he'd spent in this particular tableau, cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by sheets of paper that smelled of dust and age and cursing Elias for his inability to just come out and tell him anything. Like the evasive prick that he was.

By this point he wasn't even bothering to re-read them in the hopes of gleaning some sort of clue as to why, exactly, Elias had sent him this particular selection. Instead, he spent the majority of his time staring at the pages and muttering to himself in the vain hope that the pieces would fall into place if he only kept up his angry whispering long enough.

"What is so important about burial? And how does it relate to the Stranger's plans?" Jon picked up a yellowed sheet of paper, the newest addition to his collection, and shook it. "What does any of this have to do with what I'm supposed to do here?"

The Admiral watched him from his perch on the armchair, expression disinterested even for a cat.

"You're right," Jon said, setting the paper aside and smoothing it out carefully, trying to remove the creases that his moment of anger had put there. "I'm overthinking it. I need to take a break, regroup. Wait and see what Elias sends me next."

Jon moved his now-cold mug of tea to one end of the coffee table and gathered up the rest of the statements. He placed the pile on the other end of the table, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that his most productive conversations of late were with a cat. 

Or that most of his conversations of late were with a cat. 

He was almost grateful when the sound of the front door opening interrupted that particular line of thought. 

"Jon, are you home?"

"In here, Georgie." Jon scratched behind the Admiral's ears and whispered, "Let's keep this between us, shall we?"

The Admiral batted his head against Jon's fingers, which was as close to an agreement as he was going to get.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important." Georgie gave them both a knowing look as she slipped off her jacket and laid it over the back of the armchair, earning her an annoyed flick of the Admiral's tail. She gave him a quick scratch behind the ears and extended her other hand, holding an envelope out to Jon. "I really do wish you'd tell him to send these through the actual mail. It would be slightly less creepy than finding them shoved under the door."

"I doubt he'd listen." Jon took it from her and took a seat on the sofa, making himself wait to open it in an effort not to look _too_ eager.

"Or you could actually go in to work and let him hand them to you in person. Sit at your desk, wear something that's not your pajamas, talk to someone who's not me or a cat."

"There's nothing wrong with talking to a--I've told you, it's better this way. Staying away is in everyone's best interest."

"Is it really, or is it just what's easiest for you?"

"I hardly think that's fair--"

Georgie took a seat beside him and sighed. "I know your heart's generally in the right place, but you've always done this. You make assumptions about what other people need without so much as asking them."

"Yes, well." Jon turned his attention back to the envelope and started to open it, welcoming the excuse not to continue this particular line of discussion. Inside, there was a single sheet of paper, stark white and largely blank, save for a few lines written in an elaborate script in the middle of the page. 

"A bit shorter than the usual, isn't it?"

"Much shorter." Jon frowned and read it quickly, then handed it to her with a sour look. "It's not a statement. Elias is calling me in for a meeting. So it looks like you're going to get your wish."

Georgie looked the note over with a frown. "I'm not sure if I should be happy you'll finally be leaving the house, or worried that it's to meet with your creepy boss."

"I just hope it's over with quickly." Jon tossed the empty envelope onto the coffee table and told himself that maybe this was a good thing. He could make an appearance in the Archives after his meeting with Elias and grab a few statements to bring back with him. If he was lucky, his assistants might all be busy elsewhere, and then he wouldn't have to deal with all the anger and worry and accusatory looks.

Yes, everything would be just fine. No need to worry.

\--

"You wanted to see me?" Jon looked at Elias seated behind his desk, poring over a stack of normal-looking paperwork, and wondered if he'd ever reach the point where he could use the same hands he'd murdered two people with to blithely fill out paperwork. Like the murder bits were just another unpleasant but necessary part of his job.

"Ah, Jon. It's good to see you could make it in." Elias set his pen aside and motioned for Jon to take a seat.

The guest chairs in Elias's office were nice, reasonably comfortable chairs. Elias's chair, on the other hand, was a large, expensive-looking leather monstrosity that towered over the others, a looming reminder of the insignificance of everything and everyone else in the room. Before he'd known the truth about Elias, Jon had assumed it was a hold over from Elias's predecessor, something that he was too practical to replace with something less intimidating. Now, knowing what he knew, he couldn't see it as anything but deliberate. 

Jon made a point not to fidget, back rigid as he met Elias's eyes. "Can we make this quick? I have work I should be doing."

"Yes, I'm sure you do. But no need to worry. Taking a few minutes out of your busy day to have a chat with me shouldn't have any significant effects on your performance."

"Is that why you called me here, to discuss my performance?"

"No, although we may need to have a discussion about that in the future."

"Then why exactly am I here?"

"To discuss the performance of your assistants. Or one assistant in particular." Elias rested his elbows on the arms of his monstrous chair and folded his hands together in front of him. There was an expression on his face that, a year ago, Jon would have taken for genuine concern. "To put it bluntly, Tim is becoming a liability."

"Look, I know he hasn't been quite himself recently, but I hardly think--"

"Jon, even you can agree that he hasn't exactly been up to snuff for well over a year now. And things have gotten far worse since you've started working outside the office." 

Jon crossed his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the surge of guilt he felt at that particular comment. "I can hardly be held accountable for things that happen when I'm not even here."

"That's debatable." 

"It's really not--"

Elias quieted him with a look, cold enough to make Jon shiver despite the relative warmth of the room around them. "I've overlooked Tim's issues because I know you're fond of him, but I can only sit idly by for so long. There are things that we will need to deal with in a very limited amount of time very soon, and I need everyone here to do their part and contribute." 

"Yes, and I'd be more than willing to if you'd just _tell_ me what those things were."

"I've told you it's not that simple." The lines on Elias's face deepened in concern, and Jon had never wanted to punch him quite so much as he did at that moment. "If things with Tim don't change, I'm afraid I'll have to get rid of him."

"You're going to fire him?" Even before the words left him, Jon knew how stupidly optimistic they sounded. He said them anyway, because part of him was still dumb enough to hold out hope for less awful outcomes for the others, if not for himself.

"No, although that would be considerably more pleasant for everyone involved. Unfortunately, that's not how the contracts here work."

"So what, you're going to kill him because you feel like he's not a team player?"

"Oh, I probably won't kill him myself. But I can't guarantee there will be much left of him at the end of it."

"Well, I'm not going to stand by and just let you harm one of my assistants--"

Elias sighed. "Of course you aren't. Why do you think I called you here?"

"I assumed because you wanted to dangle threats over my head while refusing to answer any of my questions. I just didn't think the threats would be directed at my assistants."

"Good to know that you think of my attempts at helping you as 'threats'." Elias looked genuinely amused. "And now the question is, what are you willing to do about it?"

"About you being an ass?"

"No, I'm afraid that's a separate issue. I was talking about Tim's current attitude."

Jon took a deep breath and tried to sound more confident than he felt. "I can--I'll talk to him."

"And you think that will work?"

"I'll make sure it does."

"Right. You have two weeks." 

Jon sat forward in his chair. "Two weeks? That's not enough time."

"And yet it's still more than I should give you." Elias unclasped his hands and picked up a fountain pen that probably cost more than Jon's best suit. "If you'd like some advice, you know where to find me."

\--

The problem with having stalked your co-worker for the better part of a year and then accused him of murder was that it made it hard to have anything approaching a normal discussion with him afterwards.

Or it made it difficult if the person in question was Tim, at least. Martin seemed much more open to talking to Jon like he hadn't spent months making everyone's lives miserable, but Martin had always been more than a little odd.

Tim, on the other hand, spent the majority of his time looking like he wished he could will Jon into non-existence with the power of his thoughts alone. Or at least he did when he could drum up the energy to do anything more than shuffle around between shelves, re-filing statements in what was one of the most painfully slow processes that Jon had ever witnessed. 

Elias was right and things in the Archives had gotten noticeably worse since he'd stopped coming in; he just had no idea what, exactly, he was supposed to do about it. Talking to Tim seemed like more of a stop-gap than an actual solution, and one that wasn't likely to end well for anyone involved. If he couldn't even work up the nerve to approach Tim and start a conversation, he had no idea how he was going to talk him into being his old, playful, sarcastic self again.

In the end, he took the coward's way out, mentioning off-handedly to Martin that he was looking for Tim and letting him do the rest of the work, as Martin was wont to do.

"Martin said you were looking for me." Tim was currently standing in the doorway of his office, starting at him like he hoped he'd catch fire and burn down to nothing but ash.

Jon told himself that Tim being here and willing to look at him was probably a good sign. Even if it was accompanied by thoughts of his untimely, painful demise. They could always work on that last part, so long as Tim wasn't avoiding him altogether. "Yes. Come in. And shut the door behind you."

"Really? Sure you'll be safe alone in the same room with me?" Tim shut the door behind him more forcefully than was warranted and made a point of standing next to the offered chair.

"Yes, I'm sure." 

"So, what did you want to talk to me about, _boss_? Got another murder you'd like to try to pin on me? Did Elias ask you to send me out to follow up on something that might get me maimed? Or possibly killed, if I'm lucky."

Jon shuffled some papers around on his desk, not quite looking Tim in the eye. "Tim, I--look, I know things haven't been great between us since the Prentiss incident--"

"That's an understatement."

"--but I really want to get past that. I know that working here isn't ideal, but we're both stuck here for the time being, and I think we should make the best of it."

"Yeah, no."

"What?"

"No." Tim crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Jon. "Elias already had the do-what-you-need-to-do talk with me. Martin, too, actually. And my answer is the same now as it was then--I'm not doing it. Fuck this place, and fuck Elias, and fuck whatever it is that's watching over us. I'm not making this easy on anyone."

"Tim, please. I really think you should--"

"I don't care what you think."

"Fine. That's fine. Hate me if you want to, but I just need you to listen to me. Please." 

Jon fully expected him to turn and storm out of the room. It was as much as he'd deserve, really. But something in Jon's voice must have given him pause, because instead Tim stayed standing in front of him, an expectant look on his face.

"Well? I'm waiting."

"Right. Right, I--I'm worried about you. If you don't start at least _trying_ to do your job, I don't know what Elias will do."

Tim shook his head and, for a very brief moment, looked almost sad. "Yeah, I was kind of expecting that."

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

"A bit late for that, isn't it?" Tim laughed, sounding more tired than bitter, and dropped his arms to his sides. "The answer is still no."

"Tim--"

"Elias can do whatever he wants to me. I don't care," Tim said firmly and gave Jon one last look before he turned and left.

\--

Two weeks went by more quickly than Jon ever would have thought possible. His subsequent (albeit half-hearted and brief) attempts to get Tim to listen to reason hadn't yielded any better results than the first, and he'd ended up retreating back to Georgie's with a box of statements and guilt weighing on his chest.

As he made his way to Elias's office to report on his failure, Jon was still trying to work out a plausible excuse to give for his lack of progress, trying to think of anything that might, at the very least, buy him a bit more time.

Maybe he could convince Elias that it was actually a good thing, having someone on the team who spent his days making sullen, sarcastic comments and napping in the back room. It gave them all a sense of perspective, made them realize how important their own contributions were. Tim was just leading by example, really, showing them all exactly what not to do.

Even in the privacy of his own head, it sounded ridiculous. 

Jon took a deep breath and knocked on Elias's door, waiting for the familiar voice to beckon him inside. 

"Come in."

Jon stepped into the office and pulled the door shut behind him, his palms clammy as he sorted through the mental list of some of the more reasonable excuses he'd come up with--he needed more time, he knew Tim was starting to come around, he couldn't do his job when his assistants were under constant threat, it wasn't fair for Elias to punish Tim for Jon's shortcomings. 

He could do this--all he needed to do was think of a good enough reason to keep Tim around long enough to find an actual solution.

But all of the mental preparation came to nothing, every one of his excuses drying up and blowing away when he turned to see Tim seated in front of Elias's desk, shoulders tense and something like fear in his eyes.

"Have a seat, Jon."

"Why is Tim here?"

"I asked him to join us for this discussion. I thought it might help speed the process." Elias waited for Jon to settle into the empty chair beside Tim's before he continued, "I gave you a deadline, Jon, and you've failed to meet it. You've actually failed to make any sort of progress at all, which is impressive in its own way."

"I told you two weeks wasn't long enough. I just need more time--"

"Which we don't have," Elias said, holding up a hand when it looked like Jon might try protesting again. "I can't offer you more time. But I'm not an unreasonable man. So, I'm going to offer you my assistance dealing with the issue instead."

"And what kind of assistance would that be?"

"To pass along my knowledge and experience in order to help you teach Tim his importance as a part of this team."

Jon cast a sidelong glance at Tim, suspiciously silent beside him, and tried not to sound too hopeful. "But he _is_ still a part of this team?"

"For the moment." Elias smiled and the room suddenly felt cold. "But that may change, depending on his willingness to learn his place."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I'll have to find a solution to his performance issues myself. Trust me when I say you don't want that to happen." Elias reached out for what looked to be an empty glass jar and pushed it forward across his desk, leaving it near the edge closest to them.

Jon frowned and leaned closer for a better look, his eyes widening when he noticed the single small, silver worm resting inside. "What--where did you get that?"

"That's not important. What's important is that if Tim doesn't learn to fall into line, he's of no use to us here, so I may as well give him over to someone who _will_ have a use for him." Elias smiled again and looked at Tim, who was sitting still and silent in his chair, eyes locked on the jar and its contents.

Jon would have picked up the jar and smashed it against the wall if he wasn't afraid that Elias's other ideas were likely much, much worse than this. "You can't--"

"I can, and I will. The question is, what will you do? The decision is yours."

Jon eyed the worm as it started to writhe against the glass. It edged closer to the side of the jar, like it understood what they were saying and was readying itself for what was to come. "What about Tim? Shouldn't he have a choice in this, too? I don't think it's fair to--"

"Shut up."

Jon turned to find Tim glaring at him, face pale and hands gripping the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled grip. "What?"

"For once in your life, just shut up. Stop trying to argue or ask why or find out whatever it is you're trying to find out. Just tell him yes and do what he wants."

Jon leaned back in his chair, further away from the anger in Tim's eyes. "What he wants is to hurt you. I can't--"

"Yes, you can." Tim's voice shook on the last word. "Because if you don't, it will be worse. For me. So can you just stop arguing so we can get this over with and I can go home."

"Tim, I--" The look Tim gave him, terrified and furious, was enough to make him tamp down on the urge to keep arguing; he locked it safely away before he turned back to Elias. "Okay." Jon focused on the jar. Trapped and alone like that, the worm almost looked harmless. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing horrible enough to warrant that expression." Elias moved several stacks of books and papers from one side of the desk to the other, his movements precise and efficient. "If you could both please stand."

Jon stood, but Tim stayed seated, still staring at the jar. There was a fine tremor running through his shoulders as Jon reached out, offering him a hand.

Tim didn't look at Jon as he took it and stood, holding on long after he should have let go. Jon thought about giving his hand a squeeze, trying to do the thing that a normal person would do in this situation, but then he remembered that a normal person wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

"Good." Elias opened a drawer and pulled out a paddle made of smooth, lightly varnished wood. He set it on the desk beside the jar. "Now bend Tim over the desk."

"Is that a paddle? You can't seriously expect me to--this is ridiculous."

"If you'd like, you can put him across your lap instead. I assumed you'd both prefer to start with the less intimate option."

"For the love of--" Tim tugged his hand out of Jon's grip and moved until he was bent over the now-empty edge of the desk, his hands flat against the dark wood and the jar and paddle directly in his line of sight. "Happy now?"

"Hardly." Elias arched an eyebrow. "Jon, if you could be so good as to stand behind Tim."

Jon hesitated then went where Elias wanted him, stepping in behind Tim and watching the way his fingers twitched against the desktop, only a few inches from where the jar still sat. "Can you put that away? I think you've made your point."

"No. I think you could both do with the reminder for now." Elias tapped a finger against the side of it, smiling a little when the worm recoiled from the vibration. The look he turned on Jon almost made him sympathize with the worm. "I want you to strike Tim across the backside. Five times with your open palm. You can leave his pants on."

"I--," Jon's urge to argue died in the face of the soft, rhythmic tapping of Elias's finger against the lid of the jar. He lifted his hand and watched Tim's curl into fists against the table, his entire body tensing in preparation; he mumbled a soft apology and brought it down before he could think better of it, the quiet smack enough to momentarily drown out that maddening clink.

Tim jerked forward with a startled sound, and Jon let out an uneven breath, lifting his hand again.

"Good. Now again, and a bit harder this time." Elias frowned. "Tim, if you could be so good as to keep count."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of glass moving against wood as Elias slid the jar closer to Tim's hand, stopping only when it was so close it was nearly pressed against one of his knuckles.

"One," Tim said, voice shaking with a combination of anger and fear.

"Good. Now it's your turn, Jon."

Jon brought his hand down in almost exactly the same spot, this time a bit harder than before. His palm stung but he ignored it, focusing his attention on Tim's face.

"Two."

Elias moved the jar back slightly. "Good. Now, the remaining three. And please try to make an effort. We do want him to actually feel them."

Jon took a deep breath and delivered the remaining blows in quick succession, each one a little bit harder, more certain than the last. The tremor was still there in his hand, but it was less noticeable when he acted without allowing himself time to think. Or to focus on the sounds that Tim made each time his hand made contact, soft and startled and almost needy. Or to consider the way he let his hand linger against Tim a moment longer than he should have, long enough to feel him the shiver that ran through him as he shifted against the desk.

Elias gave them both an approving nod. "Now do it again, five more times, and spread them out a little. We don't want the same spot getting all of the attention."

Jon didn't give himself time to hesitate before he lifted his hand and brought it down again, the sound it made muffled by the fabric of Tim's trousers. He took a deep breath and did it again, and then another, careful to make sure he was hitting a new spot with each stroke.

It was hard to tell if Tim's voice shook more or less by the time his count hit five, or if Jon was imagining things, thrown off by the harshness of his own breathing.

"Good. Now, again." 

Jon started to raise his hand and Elias reached out, gripping his wrist before he could finish. When Jon looked up, Elias was smiling faintly and holding the paddle out to him. 

"I wouldn't want you to tire your hand."

Jon glared and tugged his wrist free of Elias's grip, eyeing the paddle with something close to hatred. "My hand is fine."

"If this is going to work, I need you to follow my instructions." Elias tapped the finger of his free hand against the top of the jar, and Jon could see the way Tim jerked slightly at the sound. 

"Fine. I--fine." Jon licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry as he reached out to take the paddle from Elias. It was a heavy, balanced weight against his hand, solid and real in a way that made him wish he could throw it across the room. "How many?"

Elias looked from Jon to Tim, his face thoughtful. "Why don't you start and I'll tell you when you can stop."

"I thought the point of this was to teach him a lesson, not to hurt him."

"I'd hardly call this hurting him." Elias reached out and pushed a strand of hair out of Tim's eyes. "What do you think, Tim?"

Tim jerked away from the touch. "It's not exactly my idea of a good time."

"I'm not entirely sure I believe that. But if that really is the case, we can always stop." Elias made a thoughtful sound and tapped his fingers once against the top of the jar. "Would you like to stop?"

"No." Tim's answer was immediate. "For fuck's sake--Jon, just do it already. Please."

"I believe that answers your question," Elias said, voice so smug that Jon wished he could take the paddle to him instead. 

Jon told himself that it wouldn't be worth it, not even if he managed to surprise Elias, because Elias would find a way to win in the end, and it was highly likely that Jon wouldn't be the only one to lose. So, he kept the paddle where it was and rested his hand against the small of Tim's back, in the hollow just above his hips, and tried to steady himself instead. 

He took a deep breath and brought it down, focusing on the moment of stillness that hung in the air between them, heavy with anticipation. Tim closed his eyes and made a choked sound of pain as it struck, the muscles of his back tensing beneath Jon's hand and then releasing again, like he was fighting the urge to squirm.

"One."

Elias gave Tim an approving look and then turned his gaze to Jon, nodding once.

Jon lifted the paddle and brought it down again, the sound it made almost deafening in the quiet of the office. 

Tim jerked forward against the top of the desk and hissed, "Two."

Jon breathed in deep and exhaled slowly, raising the paddle to strike him again, eyes fixed on Tim's face. He didn't want to look away long enough to see Elias's signals, so he continued on like that: the room quiet except for the crack of the paddle, Tim's voice shaky as he counted out the strokes, his own breathing growing harsher with each subsequent blow. 

Jon watched the pain flicker across Tim's features each time he struck him, pressed his hand harder against the small of his back for one breath, then two, then repeated the process over and over again.

He lost track of everything except Tim's face and the movement of his arm, up and down in that same arc. It wasn't until he felt Elias's hand on his wrist that he looked away from Tim; his fingers ached where they clutched the paddle's handle in a too-tight grip and his shirt clung uncomfortably against his back, now damp with sweat.

"That's enough for now."

Elias released Jon and reached out, brushing the hair back from Tim's forehead. It gave Jon a better view of his face, cheeks a blotchy red and tears leaking from the corner of his closed eyes, down his nose and onto the table. Jon wanted suddenly to pull Tim to him, away from the jar and the desk and Elias's far-too-steady hands.

He stood there silently and watched instead, feeling a sick swooping in his stomach as he tried and failed to remember exactly when Tim had started to cry.

"You did very well." Elias looked at Jon like the words were directed at him. Whatever he saw on Jon's face made him smile and he reached up, gently prying the paddle from his numb fingers. He left it on the desk next to the jar; inside, Jon could see the worm pressing itself against the glass, still trying to find a way to get closer.

"Are we done here?" Jon said, almost managing to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Not yet."

"We did everything you asked--"

"Yes, you did," Elias stood and reached up, carefully smoothing down the collar of Jon's shirt. "But you both need to stay here until you're composed again."

"I don't care about being _composed_."

"I'm sure you don't, but I hardly think Tim is in any shape to leave at the moment, and I'm going to assume you won't want to leave him in my care."

"No. I'm not leaving him here."

"Good." The word sounded so approving that Jon couldn't help the sharp twinge of pleasure he felt, the same twinge he used to get when his school papers came back with a _well done_ written at the top in thick black ink. Jon tried not to let that brief moment of pleasure show on his face, but Elias smiled in a way that told Jon he knew exactly what he was thinking, then slid his hands down from Jon's collar to adjust his tie.

Jon shivered and shifted his gaze, focusing on a patch of light reflecting off Tim's hair; he didn't make an effort to pull away or try to escape Elias's hands.

After he finished with Jon's tie, Elias reached out to Tim, who had managed to stand and looked like he was trying to find a way to keep himself upright that didn't involve touching Elias's desk.

"Don't," Tim hissed, rubbing the back of his hand across his face and glaring at the hand Elias offered him. He swayed a little on his feet, but never took his eyes off Elias, and Jon felt a brief surge of pride.

Elias dropped his hand and nodded, motioning him toward the sofa. "Have a seat. Or maybe not a _seat_. Whatever else you can manage at the moment."

Tim limped over to the sofa and Jon just stood there and watched him, unsure what to do now that he wasn't being given instructions. He'd always been so bad at this part of things, dealing with the messiness of others' emotions and human vulnerability. It was easier when he could hide behind anger and sarcasm, but Tim hadn't really done anything to deserve that, so he kept silent.

It took him a moment to realize that there was a hand on his arm, and it took him even longer to realize that it belonged to Elias, who used it to steer him slowly towards the sofa. He left him there beside Tim, who was staring down at the dark emerald of the cushions like those random bits of foam and fabric had wronged him personally. 

Jon watched him for a moment and then reached out, touching his arm in almost the same spot that Elias had just been touching him. "You could--can you lay on your stomach?"

He expected Tim to pull away and make a scathing remark, stare at his arm like he wished it would fall off or tell him to go fuck himself before he strode determinedly out the door; instead, he just nodded tiredly, not bothering to look at him at all. His voice sounded strange when he spoke, too thick, and Jon realised with a sudden shock that he'd never actually seen Tim cry. "Will you sit on the end there?"

"Alright." Jon did as he asked, sitting on one end of the sofa, keeping his hands to himself as he watched Tim lower himself down beside him, settling onto his stomach and stretching his legs out so that his feet hung off the other end. He hesitated for a moment and then laid his head against Jon's lap, closing his eyes.

Jon rested a still-shaky hand on his hair and gave it an awkward stroke, swallowing heavily. "Do you need--"

"Don't talk. I just need you to be quiet."

Jon nodded even though Tim couldn't see it and ran his hand through Tim's hair slowly, movements uncertain. He couldn't tell which one of them was shaking, but it faded gradually the longer they stayed like that, so he kept his hand moving and waited. He forgot for a moment that Elias was there, reminded only when he heard one of his desk drawers open and then close again. When he looked up, Elias's desk was back to its usual arrangement and the jar and paddle were nowhere in sight.

Elias turned and gave Jon one last approving look, then picked up a pen and turned his attention to one of the many stacks of paper on his desk. Like it was just another day and Tim wasn't currently lying on his sofa, crying against Jon's leg. 

It made it easy for Jon to ignore him in turn, at least, focusing his attention on the hand he had in Tim's hair as he waited for Tim to him to be ready to leave. 

When the time finally came, Tim shook off Jon's hand and climbed off the sofa silently, his movements still a bit stiff as he made his way out the door. Jon trailed behind him, pausing briefly in the doorway to frown at Elias and his perfectly-ordered desk. 

Elias didn't look up from his work or bother to acknowledge him, so Jon gave up and turned, pulling the door shut behind him.

\--

It had been nearly a week since their meeting in Elias's office, and Jon hadn't talked to or even seen Tim in all that time. By this point, he was good at finding excuses not to be in the Archives and Tim was good at avoiding him when he was there, so not seeing one another was almost second nature. The fact that it was also less awkward, avoiding each other and not trying to think of ways to talk about what had happened, meant that Jon hadn't been especially motivated to do things any differently than usual.

But a week seemed like more than long enough to let things settle between them and, if he was being honest, just long enough for his worry to finally overrule his apprehension. So, he'd come to work bright and early, armed with two takeaway cups of coffee and something approaching a plan.

And absolutely no idea where to find Tim. 

Luckily for him, his other assistants didn't seem to share his or Tim's issues when it came to not being found, and Melanie was right where he would have expected her to be, seated at her desk with a pile of highlighters and several assorted stacks of statements.

"Hello, Melanie."

Melanie looked away from whatever she'd been reading and up at Jon, surprise flashing across her face. "Jon...hello. Haven't seen you for awhile."

"I've been busy," he said, trying to sound decisive. It came out more like a question. "Have you been--that is. How are you liking it here?"

She gave him a look that made it clear exactly what she thought of that question. "Well, I never received any sort of orientation or training, my direct supervisor is never here, most of my co-workers are basketcases, everyone I used to work with has lost any lingering respect they might have had for me because I took a job here, my boss very calmly admitted to murdering two people, and the pay's actually worse than what I got when my income came entirely from posting ghost hunting videos on Youtube."

Jon cleared his throat. "So...good, then?"

"I honestly can't complain. This place does have a great library." Melanie shrugged and eyed the cups in his hand. "Is that for me?"

"Actually, these are for--I mean, yes." Jon offered her the cup he'd meant for himself and attempted a smile. "I hope you like it black."

Melanie reached out to take it from him and opened the lid, then gave him a suspicious look. "There's nothing in this, is there?"

"What? No, I just said it's black."

"Right. Sorry. Of course there's nothing in it. It's you." Melanie sounded almost embarrassed. "So, why exactly did you bring me coffee?"

"Oh, right. It's a...welcome gift. Welcome to the team." Jon ignored how completely and utterly unimpressed Melanie looked by that and soldiered on. "And I was wondering if you knew where Tim was?"

"In the back doing some filing, last I saw him." Melanie took a careful sip of her coffee, made a face, and then took another drink. "Yeah, definitely nothing in there."

Jon decided it was best not to ask. "Right. Thank you. I'll just...go find Tim now."

She made a dismissive sound and turned her attention back to her reading. "Yeah. Thanks for the coffee."

Jon frowned and moved toward the back of the office, pausing to glance down each dimly-lit row in turn. He found Tim standing halfway down the next-to-last aisle, staring blankly at a box of statements.

"Tim, hello." Jon cleared his throat and held the coffee out to him. "I...got you a coffee."

Tim gave Jon a confused look, but reached out to take it. "You know it's not my birthday, right?"

"I--yes, of course. That's not for...some time."

"And you brought me a coffee because…?"

"I wanted to--" Jon rubbed his palm against the leg of his pants. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Tim let out a soft huff of laughter. "It doesn't hurt when I sit down anymore, if that's what you're asking."

"It didn't--it didn't hurt for long, did it?"

"Not that long," Tim said, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. Without it, he just sounded tired. "You know Martin's usually the one bringing drinks and checking up on me."

Jon rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "I was worried."

Tim actually smiled; it was brief and still looked a bit bitter, but it was more than Jon could remember getting from him for months now. "This would be less weird if you'd gotten yourself something, too. Even Martin knows that much."

"I did, actually. But Melanie asked if it was for her."

"So you, what, just gave it to her?"

"What else was I supposed to do?"

Tim looked at him in disbelief. "You're even worse at this than I thought you were." 

"I may have panicked."

"Do that a lot, don't you?"

"More often than I'd like to admit."

"And yet you almost just did. Keep this up and you might actually grow as a person." Tim took a sip and then held the cup out to examine it. "Since when do you know how I take my coffee?"

"Yes, well." Jon had the decency to sound embarrassed. "I may have asked Martin about that."

Tim met Jon's eyes and smiled again, and Jon felt something go strange inside of him; he hadn't realized how much he'd missed having Tim look at him with something that wasn't suspicion or hatred. "Next time you should get one for him, too. And Basira. Probably not Daisy."

"No, I don't think I'll be getting coffee for Daisy anytime soon." Jon shifted awkwardly and stared at his feet, struggling to sort out what he wanted to say. "I'm--it's good you're not hurt."

"Yeah. Nothing permanent, right? Not this time, anyway." Tim turned back to the box of statements in front of him, his smile fading. "Great talk, boss, but I should probably get back to work. Wouldn't want Elias to think I wasn't doing my part."

Jon flinched. "Yes. Of course. I'll...talk to you later, then." 

"I'm sure you will."

Jon turned to go, but stopped to give Tim one last look. "I know it might not mean much at this point, but I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Tim set the coffee on an empty expanse of shelf. He didn't look at Jon or ask what, exactly, he was sorry for. "I know."

\--

"Jon! I'm surprised to see you here again so soon."

From anyone else, that greeting would have come across as passive-aggressive, but Rosie somehow managed to make it sound completely sincere. 

"Yes, well. It is my job."

"I'm glad you're back." She smiled in that too-sincere way that she had and handed him a slip of paper. "From Elias. I wasn't sure when I was going to be able to give it to you, but I guess he timed that just right, giving it to me this morning."

"Yes. Funny how he always seems to manage that." Jon took it and gave her a half-hearted wave as he walked away, opening it to see a message written in Elias's looping script: _My office, 10 o'clock._

"Great. This is what I get for actually bothering to come in." Jon wadded it up and shoved it into his pocket, grateful that he at least had enough time to drop his things in his office before heading upstairs to listen to Elias's latest set of demands.

\--

"Really, Elias, everyone wanted me to start working from the office and when I try to do just that, you call me up here, away from the Archives--" Jon froze in the doorway, one foot in Elias's office and the other still out in the hall.

Inside, Jon could see Elias seated behind his desk, as was to be expected. Less expected was Tim beside him, his body bent over the side of the desk in the exact position that Jon hadn't been able to stop thinking about for well over a week now. His cheek was pressed against the dark wood of the desktop in the exact way that Jon remembered, but this time his hands were bound behind his back with something dark and his trousers were nowhere to be seen, the view of his bare legs making his position seem that much more obscene.

"If you'd be so kind as to come in and close the door," Elias said in the same voice that he used to ask Jon about expense reports. "We can get started."

Jon did as he asked, telling himself it was only because he didn't think Tim would relish the idea of one of their co-workers walking by and getting an eyeful. Tim didn't need rumors floating around the Institute about him unless he'd started them himself. "I thought we were done with this."

"Hardly. I'm of the opinion that most lessons worth learning are also worth the occasional reinforcement." Elias reached out and tapped his finger against the paddle, already sitting in the middle of his desk, waiting for Jon.

"Why is he--why did you tie his hands?"

"Tim and I decided that this was a good substitute for the...incentive that I used last time."

Jon did a quick scan of the desk, the thick, ever-present coil of worry inside him relaxing slightly when he realised the jar and its occupant were nowhere to be seen. He wondered how long that particular discussion had taken, if Tim had been up here being threatened by Elias while Jon made tea and sifted through stacks of papers that probably weren't even important enough to warrant the time he'd spent reading them.

He let out a shaky breath and moved closer to the desk, a bit unnerved by how quiet Tim was being. "Are you alright?"

Tim looked up at Jon, brows furrowing, and then nodded as best he could without lifting his head from the desk. "I'm fine. Better than last time."

"Okay. I--okay. You'd tell me if you weren't?" 

Tim met Jon's eyes as best he could in his current position and gave another nod. For that moment, however brief, he didn't look angry or bitter or tired, he just looked like Tim. The old Tim, who'd always known when to drop by Jon's desk and distract him when he started getting a bit too tied up in whatever he was working on. The one who made Sasha laugh, and Martin blush, and Jon do everything in his power to hide his smile until he was somewhere Tim couldn't see it.

In that moment, Jon wanted nothing more than to tell him that things would get back to the way they were before; the past two years had just been a detour from the way things were meant to be, and soon they'd all be back to sharing stories and annoying one another and drinking too many cups of tea, because Martin kept bringing them and he could be annoyingly insistent when he thought someone was in need of cheering.

But that would have been a lie and they both knew it, so instead he reached out and touched one of Tim's wrists just above the tie. It probably wasn't enough to really be comforting, but it was the best he had to offer at the moment.

Elias cleared his throat, startling Jon out of his thoughts. He smiled in a way that was almost apologetic and motioned to Tim. "We should probably begin."

"I--yes." Jon yanked his hand away, not quiet meeting Elias's eyes as he reached for the paddle. 

Elias put a hand on his wrist and shook his head. "Start with your hand. No need to rush things."

Jon scowled, but took his place behind Tim and looked to Elias expectantly, hating himself for the brief thrill that the approval that he could see on Elias's face gave him. He put a hand on the small of Tim's back, his fingertips brushing against Tim's, and took a moment to look at him. His shirt had shifted up, leaving a strip of bare flesh visible at the top of his boxers, now partially covered by Jon's hand. It made him look more vulnerable, and also made Jon want to push his shirt up further to touch more of the bare skin underneath.

Jon told himself it was only because he wanted to reassure him and forced himself to look away. "How many?"

"Good question. How many would you like, Tim?" Elias kept his eyes locked with Jon's as they waited for Tim's answer.

Jon could feel Tim's back rise and fall beneath his hand as he inhaled sharply; he expected to see anger on Tim's face, but instead he was staring at a point somewhere across the office, his eyes slightly unfocused. He licked his lips and instead of the biting reply that Jon expected, said, "Twenty."

It was so soft that Jon would have thought he'd imagined it, but Elias nodded in approval, so he'd obviously heard it, too. "Good. Let's make that twenty on each side, then, shall we?"

"...okay," Jon said and raised his hand.

This time was both easier and harder than the first. Easier because Jon knew what to expect, knew that ultimately Tim would be alright, and that this time, at least, they didn't have the threat of that jar with its tiny, terrifying occupant hanging over their heads. Harder because it was different this time, with only the thin material of Tim's boxers between his body and Jon's hand; harder because Tim sounded different this time, less terrified, and the way he jerked when Jon's hand made contact felt almost eager.

Jon told himself that he was probably just imagining it, his mind searching for ways to make this easier on himself, wiping away any lingering doubts so he could bring himself to follow through on Elias's softly-spoken instructions. 

"Forty," Tim said, his hands pulling reflexively against his bonds as Jon struck his final blow.

Jon let his hand linger, resting against the curve of Tim's ass as he took a long, shaky breath. His hand felt hot, but he couldn't tell if was because of the stinging in his palm or the heat he could feel coming off of Tim's body through the thin cotton of his shorts. He moved his fingers in a half-caress and Tim squirmed against the touch, making a sound low in his throat. Jon pulled his hand back to himself before he could give in to temptation and do it again, his eyes wide with guilt.

"Very good." Elias's voice was too-loud in the quiet of the room, but still somehow managed to be soothing, the steadiness of it reassuring. When Jon looked to him, Elias was holding the paddle up in offering, wearing that look of approval that made Jon's stomach drop.

Jon took it from him, his hands trembling less than they had last time, his grip feeling more steady.

Satisfied, Elias turned his attention to Tim. "Do you need a moment?"

"No." 

"Good. Do you want to give us a number, or shall we do this the same as last time?"

"I--like last time." Tim's voice was rough. He shifted slightly against the desk and Jon could feel the muscles in his back tense with it, like he was readying himself for what was to come.

Elias smiled at that and reached out, running his hand over Tim's hair. This time, Tim didn't try to pull away. "Then let's continue. Jon?"

Jon had the paddle raised before Elias had finished speaking; he brought it down quickly, his breath catching at the sound it made, louder now that the extra material from Tim's trousers wasn't there to muffle it. Tim gave a strangled gasp and Jon hit him again, not giving himself time to stop and think. The strokes came in rapid succession, one after the other, too quickly for Tim to have time to catch his breath, let alone count them out; Jon wondered if that might not be against the rules somehow. But Elias didn't say anything or give any indication that he wanted him to stop, so he kept going until sweat started to trickle down his back and his fingers felt numb.

This time, he saw the moment when Tim started to cry, his breath escaping him in a sob as tears started to run down his face. 

Jon froze, his breathing heavy and his hand aching where it gripped the paddle. "Tim? Are you--should I stop?"

Tim shuddered and made a choked noise, giving a small, hesitant nod.

Jon didn't wait for Elias to give him permission before he set the paddle aside and reached up to start untying Tim's bonds, fingers shaking so much that it took him several tries to work the knots loose. When he finally managed it, he dropped the ties to the floor and started to rub Tim's wrists carefully, mumbling a quiet apology each time he hissed in pain.

The sound of one of the desk drawers opening was enough to draw Jon's attention away from Tim, his head jerking up to look at Elias, entire body going tense as he watched him pull something out and set it on top of the desk. 

"It's just lotion," Elias said, voice quiet. Calm. Jon could feel his shoulders start to relax and hated himself for it. "I thought it might be helpful."

Jon wanted to let Elias know exactly what he thought of his brand of helpfulness, but the lump in his throat made words hard, so instead he just reached for the bottle. The smell was subtle as he poured some onto his hand, earthy and almost soothing, and he could feel his fingertips tingling pleasantly everywhere it touched. He reached for Tim's wrists again and worked some into the faint red marks on his skin; the sounds that Tim made had shifted from sobs into soft, shaking breaths. Jon took that as encouragement and kept up his careful massage, working his way down from Tim's wrists to his palms and then his fingers.

That done, Jon stood there staring down at him, at a sudden loss for what to do next.

Elias gave him a moment, then took pity on him and broke the awkward silence. "I think that will be enough for today."

Jon nodded in agreement and helped Tim stand, unable to look either him or Elias in the eye.

\--

"Oh good, you're here." Martin walked into his office carrying two mugs of tea and wearing a hopeful smile.

Jon looked up from the statement he was reviewing and sighed. "Why does everyone keep acting surprised to see me?"

"Maybe I was just afraid you'd ducked out in the time it took for the kettle to heat," Martin said and started to laugh, trailing off awkwardly when Jon just stared blankly back at him. "Sorry, it was a joke? Because our kettle's rubbish. Really rubbish, actually. Someone should probably ask Elias to replace it."

"Can I help you with something, Martin?"

"Oh, right." Martin set one of the mugs on the desk in front of Jon and kept the other for himself. "I thought you might like some tea."

Jon put his pen aside and reached for the mug; for all of Martin's faults, he did know how to make an excellent cup of tea. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem." Martin glanced over his shoulder at the open door and then turned back to Jon, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I just wanted to say--I know you probably don't think it's any of my business, but I'm glad you talked to Tim."

Jon managed, by some stroke of luck, not to choke on his tea. "Tim told you I had a talk with him?"

"Well, no. He didn't really say anything, but I just assumed--" Martin frowned in confusion. "You did have a talk with him, didn't you? He's been so much happier lately and I thought since you've been back and Melanie said you brought him a coffee the other day, that must be it."

"No, I didn't--you really think he seems happier?"

"Oh, yes. He's more like himself than he's been in ages." Martin glanced over his shoulder at the door again and smiled when he turned back to Jon, voice still pitched low but happy, like he was sharing a particularly good secret. "I've only seen him go to have a lie down once this week. And he actually laughed at something I said yesterday. And he even told Basira he'd go out for drinks with us later. I can't remember the last time he's wanted to go out. Not since--well, not for a long time, anyway."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that. I was--I am worried about him."

"Me too. We all are." For a moment, Jon thought Martin might try to reach out and pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, but he seemed to think better of it and shoved his free hand into his pocket instead, saving them both the indignity. "Did you...that is, do you want to join us for drinks? I know you're busy, but it would be great to have you along. You could let Basira order for you. She's really great at it. She can just ask a person a few questions and then know exactly the sort of thing they'd like. Last time, she ordered me this cocktail--"

"No," Jon cut him off, ignoring the kicked-puppy look that the refusal earned him. "Thank you for the offer. Really. I just don't think it's a good idea at the moment."

"Okay. But if you change your mind, we'd love to have you along."

"I'm sure _you_ would, Martin, but I'm not sure that applies to everyone else."

"Well, Melanie might not love to have you along, but I don't think she'd mind it." Martin nodded once to himself. "Right. Well, I should probably get back to it."

"Yes. Thank you again for the tea."

"It's no trouble." Martin smiled and Jon wondered how anyone who worked here could manage that level of sincerity without going at least a little mad. "I'll see you around, then?"

Jon nodded and forced himself to smile back.

\--

Jon stepped into his flat for the first time in months--and certainly the first time that he intended to stay for longer than it took to collect clothes and basic toiletries--and it felt a bit like stepping back in time.

The Jon who'd lived here was a different person with different priorities, more naive and slightly less wounded. Probably someone who might have offered more resistance when Elias had asked him to do what he'd done to Tim. Almost certainly more human.

He pushed that thought aside and hung his coat in the usual spot by the door, then set about reacquainting himself with the place where he'd spent so much of his life until recently.

It was exactly as he remembered it. His half-read novel was still waiting for him on the arm of the sofa, the cupboards were still stocked with a frankly pathetic number of instant noodles, and the walls were still mostly bare, save for the handful of cheap art pieces he'd scattered around in a panic after he'd realized this place looked a bit too much like the home of a serial killer on some terrible crime procedural that he'd made the mistake of watching. 

He should have felt at home, with all the same things still in all of the same places, but he didn't. It was how he imagined it felt for most people who visited their childhood homes as adults; things looked the same on the surface, but being there felt different in a way that they couldn't quite explain.

He decided to stay the night anyway, telling himself that he couldn't impose on Georgie's hospitality forever, despite her insistence otherwise. So he sent a text to let her know he'd be gone for the evening, made some of the horrible instant noodles that he had on hand, then settled onto the sofa. 

It somehow managed to be even more mind-numbingly boring than he remembered, sitting there alone, paying half-attention to whatever mindless thing was on TV and trying not to think about anything to do with work. He'd never had a flatmate before he'd started staying with Georgie and the Admiral, had never really thought he wanted one, but now that he was alone again, all he could think was that he wished he had someone to talk to.

He still had too much pride to pack it in and return to Georgie's for the night, though, so he curled up beneath a blanket and tried to pretend he cared about whatever show was on. It wasn't easy, since he'd never been big on television, but the thought of turning it off and sitting alone in silence seemed even more pathetic. 

His lack of interest meant it made for an awful distraction, though, and his thoughts kept wandering back to work and, inevitably, Tim.

Jon wondered if he was out at the pub with the others at that very moment, drinking sub-par beer and telling one of his ridiculous stories. If the others were all leaning forward, listening intently and unable to look away. If they were unsure whether the story was real, or if that even mattered. 

He wished that he was there right now, listening to one of those ludicrous stories, moving his chair that tiny bit closer when no one was looking, drawn in by Tim's smile. It didn't take much for him to picture it, bright and flirtatious and just mysterious enough to make you want to get closer to try to get a glimpse of what was hidden underneath.

Thinking about it made something clench low in his gut, the sudden arousal and its source more than a little awkward. He shifted beneath the blanket and tried not to think about it--or Tim--but now that his mind and body had latched onto the idea, they didn't seem willing to let go of it anytime soon.

There was a bottle of lotion left out on the coffee table for reasons he couldn't remember; he reached for it, a guilty look on his face, and poured some out into his palm, ignoring his brief twinge of disappointed that it smelled like nothing. He slid his hand under the blanket and down the front of his pajamas and tried not to think about Tim.

The lotion was cool and made a nice contrast to the heat of his palm, and he gave a lazy thrust up into his fist, tightening his fingers just a little. An image of Tim's hands popped into his head, his wrists a faint red as Jon tried to massage some of the hurt from them, and he had the sudden, embarrassed thought that he hadn't thought to warm the lotion first before applying it. Tim hadn't seemed to mind at the time, though, hadn't flinched or done much more than curl his fingers ever-so-slightly into Jon's touch. 

Jon let out a low, guilty breath at the memory, cock twitching against his palm. He tried to think about something else, imagine some faceless person who wasn't Tim, but he could feel his mind drifting back to it, focusing in on that moment and veering off in all the directions he hadn't chosen to take.

Instead of helping Tim up, he pictured his hands wandering down his back, hesitating on the waist of his boxers. He could imagine pushing them down, over the curve of Tim's ass and down onto his thighs, doing his best to be careful, but still drawing low moans of not-quite-pain from him with each accidental touch. 

The skin there was darker red than Tim's wrists, more angry-looking. He brushed his finger against the worst of it, his touch light, and Tim jerked against the desk.

Elias, still watching impassively from his chair, leaned forward to take the bottle of lotion from the desk and offered it to him. "Always remember to use the tools at your disposal, Jon."

Mouth dry, Jon held out his hand and let Elias pour some onto his palm. The scent hit him and he felt a bit dizzy with it, hands shaking as he spread the lotion between them and then reached down to work it carefully into Tim's abused flesh.

The sound Tim made was nearly a sob, but he pressed into the touch almost eagerly, so Jon kept going, running his hands over him and trying to ease some of the hurt he'd caused. His gaze drifted down between Tim's spread legs and he caught a glimpse of his cock, hard and neglected. He started to slide one of his hands around to touch it, wanting to ease an entirely different kind of ache, but he froze when his fingertips brushed Tim's hip; he pulled his hand back to himself, shaking his head.

Tim made a soft sound of disappointment and Elias, now standing behind him, close enough that Jon could feel his heat along his back, whispered, "I didn't tell you to stop."

"I--" Jon stared down at Tim, who was staring back at him with a desperate look, mouth parted and face flushed in anticipation. "Tim doesn't want--"

"All this time spent looking for answers, and you still haven't learned to see things for what they are." Jon couldn't see Elias's smirk, but he could hear it in his voice as he stepped closer and brought one arm up to circle Jon's waist. 

Jon leaned back against him, his eyes still locked with Tim's. "I can't--"

Elias made a soft noise, almost soothing, and moved his hand down, trailing it over Jon's stomach and wrapping it around his cock, touching him in the way that Jon wished he were touching Tim. He stroked him expertly, the perfect amount of pressure and the pace just slow enough to be maddening. Jon thrust against his fist, seeking more, and Elias laughed in his ear, low and knowing.

"You can, Jon. And you will. Go on."

Jon shuddered and lifted his hand, reaching out and trailing shaking fingers over the curve of Tim's ass, pressing just hard enough to watch the skin go white before fading back into that angry red. 

Tim groaned and arched into the touch, fingers practically clawing at the wood of the desk as he watched Jon, eyes desperate. "Please."

The word was all it took to tip Jon over the edge, his body trembling as he came. 

He opened his eyes and stared up at the dimly lit ceiling of his living room, his hand still circled around his cock, fingers sticky with his release. He left the television on as he stood and made his way to the bathroom for a very guilty, slightly too-cold shower.

\--

"Jon, what a pleasant surprise. Please, come in."

Jon took a seat, his gaze drifting over to the edge of Elias's desk, now covered in neat stacks of paper. It looked like it hadn't ever been used for anything but signing documents or any of the other trappings of a normal, boring bureaucratic workday. He had the sudden urge to sweep all of those stacks of papers onto the floor.

"Can I help you with something, or did you come here to admire my desk?" 

There was a hint of amusement in Elias's voice, and Jon turned to glare at him. "I wanted to talk about Tim."

"Alright." Elias set his pen aside and sat back in his chair, expression attentive. He was so good at looking like he actually cared; Jon could never tell if it was entirely put on or if some small part of him was sincere. Or if Jon just wanted him to be. "Have there been new issues that you'd like to discuss?"

"You know what I want to discuss."

Elias arched an eyebrow. "I know you don't fully understand how this works yet, but I can assure you that I'm hardly a mind reader. And even if I was, I'd still expect you to actually speak to me if you want to have a discussion."

"Fine." Jon took a deep breath and glared at the expensive paper weight on the edge of Elias's desk, focusing his anger on its shiny, rounded sides. "I think that Tim has...learned his lesson. He's started doing his work again, his attitude has improved, and he's even being friendly with the other assistants. I don't think he should be an issue going forward."

"That's good to hear."

"So you can stop threatening to get rid of him," Jon said, voice tight with anger. "And no more of your lessons. I can't--he doesn't need them."

Elias stared at him, his expression curious and intense, like he was trying to look into Jon instead of at him. Jon could almost feel him searching for all those answers that he kept tucked away from sight, hidden so deeply inside himself that he might not even have known where to find them himself. If he'd been less angry, that look would have had him turning away and making stumbling excuses to leave; instead, he kept his eyes locked with Elias's and his back rigid, refusing to budge.

After what felt like an eternity, Elias nodded, breaking whatever spell had fallen over the both of them. He looked almost pleased. "Of course, Jon. You're his direct supervisor, so you should understand his needs better than I do."

"Really. That's it? You're not even going to argue with me?"

"That hardly seems necessary. I trust your judgment." Elias leaned forward in his chair and reached for his ever-present pen. "Now, you'll have to excuse me, I do have other work to do."

Jon briefly re-considering his earlier decision not to sweep the papers off of Elias's desk and onto the floor, but even in the midst of his anger, he couldn't quite bring himself to push his luck that far. So, instead he stood, gave Elias one last glare, and headed out the door.

\--

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been avoiding me."

Jon looked up from the box of statements he'd been rifling through to stare at Tim, his eyes a bit too wide to feign innocence. "Tim. You're here earlier than usual."

"So are you. Which is funny, because you seem to have stopped being here during normal hours at all."

"Yes, well. I've been working out of the office." 

"I know." Tim crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one of the shelves. The casual way that he stood there staring at him made Jon want to turn and run. "I got sick of you never being in your office when I went to find you, so I mentioned it to Martin and he told me the funniest thing. Seems like he keeps running into you in here, early in the mornings, grabbing piles of statements. But you somehow always manage to be gone before anyone else gets here."

"It's easier to get things done when no one else is around to distract me." It sounded like a poor excuse even to him. He pushed the box of statements back into place on the shelf and turned to look Tim in the eye. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Stop avoiding me."

"I'm not--"

"Don't lie to me. You're not very good at it." 

Jon swallowed heavily. "I know I don't have any right to ask you to trust me at this point, but I need you to believe me when I say it's better this way."

"Why? Because you're afraid that things will be awkward after what happened in Elias's office, so you'd rather just avoid me altogether?"

Tim pushed off the shelf and took a step closer, and Jon took a stumbling step backwards, trying to maintain the distance between them. "This isn't--it's not that simple."

"Why not? Just tell me. You keeping secrets and running away every time things get difficult has helped no one. Including you." Tim narrowed his eyes. "What are you so afraid of?"

Jon stared at him, unable to come up with a plausible excuse. Telling Tim the truth didn't seem like much of an option. "I can't--it really is better for you if I'm not here. I'm just trying to protect you."

"From who, you?" Tim's expression shifted, brow furrowing as he stared at Jon so intently that Jon suspected he might have actually been able to see down into his soul. "That's it, isn't it? You actually think--"

"Jon, I brought you a coffee--oh, Tim." Martin's expression as he rounded the corner and spotted Tim was one of pleasant surprise. "Wow, you're here early. Why are you--did you have a meeting or something? I don't think I've ever seen you here this early."

"Woke up early and wanted to take care of something before it got busy." Tim's smile looked sincere, even if his voice still had a slight edge to it. "Easier to get things done when no one's around, right, Jon?"

Jon shifted uncomfortably and didn't answer.

"Oh, well. I guess you are right about that." Martin looked down at the takeaway cups he had clutched, one in each hand, and frowned. "If I'd known you'd be here, I'd have brought you something, too. If you want you can have mine? I know you prefer coffee, but it's really good tea. I think you might like it."

"That's okay. I'll take Jon's." Tim reached out and plucked the cup from Martin's fingers with a smile. "He'll be leaving soon."

"But that--" Martin watched as Tim brushed past him, then turned to Jon, frowning slightly. "I can put on the kettle and make you something if you'd like? Or you can have mine. I don't mind."

Jon waved off the offer. "No, I'm fine. And Tim was right. I'll be leaving shortly."

"Right. So is everything--I didn't interrupt something, did I? I can leave and call Tim back if you want."

Jon almost laughed. "No, Martin. We should probably just leave things as they are." 

"Okay. If you're sure." Martin frowned. "I'll just...go start my work, then?"

"Yes. Thank you, Martin."

Jon stayed standing there after Martin left, staring at the boxes of statements lining the shelves and wondering where his life had gone quite so wrong.

\--

The halls were empty as Jon made his way up the stairs to Elias's office, his footsteps disturbing the quiet that had settled over the Institute. He was unsure whether or not to be grateful that Elias had decided to call him in for a meeting after hours, when there was no risk in running into any of the Institute's other employees. It meant not having to make small talk in the stairwell, which he always appreciated, but it also meant no one was around to stand witness if Elias decided that he'd had enough to Jon's incompetence.

The timing of the meeting could have been perfectly innocent, of course. Knowing Elias, it just didn't seem likely.

Jon pushed open the door to Elias's office, shoulders tense, and was greeted with an all-too-familiar scene--Elias seated behind his desk and Tim bent over one end of it in nothing but his boxers, both of them waiting for Jon's arrival with varying degrees of patience.

"You said we weren't going to do this again."

Elias arched an eyebrow and sighed wearily. "No, Jon, you said that you didn't think Tim needed to do this again, and I agreed. Apparently Tim was of a different opinion."

"Well, I don't care what you think he's done to earn this. I'm not doing it." Jon forced his legs to move and crossed the office to Tim, whose hands were tied behind his back with those same black ties; there was another fastened around his mouth as a makeshift gag. Jon hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to start, and then reached for the ties on Tim's wrists, all the while glaring at Elias. "And I'm not going to let you threaten him anymore. He's my assistant, so it should be _my_ decision what to do with him."

Elias watched him, face impassive. "I don't disagree."

"Really? Because you could have fooled me." Jon took Tim's arm and helped him up, then reached for the knot holding the gag in place, his hands shaking. 

Elias didn't attempt to argue, just continued to watch the proceedings, expression curious.

"We're leaving." Jon let the gag drop to the floor and took Tim's arm to lead him away, but Tim resisted, forcing Jon to stop and actually look him in the eye. "Tim?"

"This wasn't Elias's idea," Tim said, his voice quiet. "It was mine."

"What? Why in the hell would you--" Jon looked to Elias, who continued to watch them silently, even less helpful than usual. "I thought you hated this."

"That's strange, because I don't remember telling you that."

"I just assumed--"

"Well, you assumed wrong," Tim snapped, shaking Jon's hand off his arm. "And then you ran away."

"I thought--"

"That it was better that way. Yes, I _know_." Tim sighed, deflating a little, disappointment flickering across his face. "It's not. You're not the only one who's in over their head and terrified, you know that? And if the rest of us aren't allowed to run away, then you shouldn't be, either."

Jon winced. "I hadn't really thought about it that way."

"You don't think about a lot of things," Tim muttered. "And you're an idiot if you think you're more dangerous to me than half the things out there. Including Elias."

Jon started to argue, but realized that being offended by that probably wouldn't do much in the way of disproving that he was an idiot. He took a deep breath and decided to settle on the truth instead. "I don't know if I'm still human enough to stop myself from hurting you. Or to even realize that I am."

"I really doubt anyone who wasn't at least a little bit human would spend this much time worrying about it." Tim's expression softened, one side of his mouth curling upwards into a half-smile. "Don't get me wrong, you're still an ass, but that isn't exactly new. And I don't think that makes you a monster."

Elias cleared his throat. "As touching as this is, I'm going to have to leave my office. Unless you still require my assistance, of course."

Jon opened his mouth to decline, but Tim beat him to it.

"We do." There was a stubbornness in Tim's eyes and buried beneath that, harder to see, something uncertain and almost eager. "Wouldn't want to waste Elias's time, would we? I hear he's very busy."

"I--" Jon licked his lips, suddenly very aware of how close they were standing and how little Tim was wearing. "I suppose not. If you think so?"

Tim smirked. "I do."

"Then I--" Part of Jon still wanted say no, find a reason to leave and not look back. But that was a small, scared part of him, and it was easy to ignore when Tim standing so close and looking at him like that. "I guess I do, too."

"You're both very fortunate that I've cleared my schedule for the evening." If it had been anyone but Elias speaking, Jon would have called the words playful. "But since it sounds as though you'll be staying--Jon, if you wouldn't mind removing the rest of Tim's clothes."

"What?" Jon looked at the paddle, laid out in its usual spot on the desktop, and then at Elias, his expression lost. "I thought we were going to..."

"As appealing as that thought is, I think Tim's recent good behavior calls for something a bit different, don't you? Let's call it a reward." Elias waited for Jon's nod of agreement. "Now that that's settled, do as I asked and strip him."

Jon reached for the waistband of Tim's boxers, breath catching as his fingers brushed the bare skin beneath. Tim shivered at the touch but otherwise stayed still, watching Jon's face as he pushed them down his thighs and let them fall to the floor.

"Good. Now, if you could both move to the sofa. Tim, if you'd be so good as to sit on his lap." 

"Do you want me to…" Jon waved his hand in front of him, motioning vaguely at his own clothes.

Elias looked him over slowly, deliberately, and shook his head. "Not yet."

"Right." Jon turned to cross the room; he didn't need to check to see if Elias was watching him, able to feel his eyes following him as he took a seat on one end of the sofa and tilted his head back to look up at Tim.

Tim stood there for a moment, staring down at him and smiling knowingly. Jon made an effort not to let his eyes stray from Tim's face, which seemed a bit ridiculous given the current situation, and reached up to touch his bare hip. 

Tim rolled his eyes and climbed onto the sofa and into Jon's lap, pressing his back against Jon's chest. His legs fell open as he settled in, giving the room a full view of everything he had to offer. Jon took a deep breath and let himself look, finally, over Tim's shoulder and down the length of his body.

"Good. Now, Jon, I want you to touch him," Elias said, interrupting Jon's staring.

Jon took a deep breath, his fingers twitching where they'd settled against Tim's hip. "How should I…"

"I think that you're more than creative enough to handle that part yourself." Elias smirked. "After all, he is your assistant. You should be the one to decide what to do with him."

The glare that Jon directed at Elias lacked its usual heat, but it provided a good distraction from his own uncertainty as he slid his hand down Tim's hip and onto his thigh, fingers trembling. Tim's soft sound of encouragement and the way he shifted into the touch was all Jon needed to dismiss that uncertainty completely.

Jon took a moment to appreciate the solid warmth of him as he moved his hand lower, keeping his touch light, more careful than it probably needed to be. He could feel the slight indentations of Tim's scars, scattered across his skin at irregular intervals, the shape and feel of them oddly familiar. He couldn't decide if it was unsettling or thrilling, touching Tim's scars and having them feel so much like his own. 

He wondered if Tim knew the shape of them all, had lain awake at night, memorizing the paths they made across his body. If he'd ever thought about what could have happened if just one of them had gone a bit deeper or if the fire suppression system had been triggered just a moment too late. If he'd ever caught a glimpse of the scars on Jon's neck or the backs of his hands and wondered if they extended as far as his own.

Jon pressed a kiss to Tim's shoulder, brief and uncertain, and traced a line of scars that ran along Tim's inner thigh, taking a moment to appreciate the strange, swirling pattern they made against his otherwise untouched skin.

Tim tensed slightly, his legs shifting, spreading wider when Jon's fingers followed the path slowly back up his thigh; he made a soft sound of protest when they reached the top and instead of touching his cock, trailed back onto his hip instead.

" _Jon._ "

"Be patient," Jon whispered and pressed his fingernails into Tim's skin, leaving small, white half-moons behind, a contrast to the regularity of the tiny, perfect circles dotted across his skin. He could see Tim's cock resting half-hard against his hip, close enough that it was almost brushing his fingers, and he stilled, looking across the room to Elias.

Elias stared back, expression frustratingly neutral.

Jon swallowed and started to reach for Tim's cock, wondering if that would manage to elicit a reaction, but he thought better of it. He brought his left hand up to rest against Tim's other thigh instead and repeated his slow explorations, taking his time and letting his touch linger on each new scar that he encountered. 

Elias smiled, a brief curve of his mouth that was there and gone again so quickly that Jon couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

Jon licked his lips and traced the curve of Tim's hip, listening to the increasingly frustrated sounds he made at each new touch. When he started to sound like he couldn't take anymore, Jon ran a finger over and up the length of his cock, suddenly all-too-aware of his own as Tim hissed and shifted back against him. He turned his head, breaking eye contact with Elias, and whispered in a voice that sounded unsteady even to his own ears, "Tell me what you need."

Tim half-laughed, half-groaned and pushed his hips towards Jon's hand, letting his head fall back against Jon's shoulder. "Just fucking _touch me_ already."

Jon briefly considered trying to drag things out, seeing how Tim would react if he made him wait five, ten, fifteen minutes; but he'd never been particularly good at taking his time when he could go with his first impulse and do what his curiosity demanded of him instead, so he did as Tim asked and wrapped a hand around his cock.

Tim swore and dug his fingers into the edge of the sofa cushion, arching his back and pushing his hips up into the touch. Jon couldn't make out much of his expression from this angle, but he could hear the way his breath hitched when he started to move his hand, his grip loose and teasing. He pressed his mouth against Tim's neck and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feel of Tim pressing back against him, hips shifting, seeking more friction.

He waited until the noises Tim was making grew plaintive, desperate, and then slowly tightened his grip on him; Tim bucked against him and Jon let out an unsteady breath, opening his eyes to take in what he could see of Tim's face, eyes screwed shut and cheeks flushed, mouth hanging open as he gasped and cursed Jon, Elias, the room in general.

Jon swallowed and shifted his gaze across the room to Elias, still seated in his chair, looking interested but unfazed; his expression was the same one Jon imagined he wore when watching a particularly fascinating play--engaged with what was happening on stage, but also detached, fully aware that he was a spectator to the scene playing out before him. 

He should have hated it, knowing that Elias was watching, calmly waiting to see what move Jon would make next. Instead, it sent a thrill through him, similar but different to the way it felt to have Tim pressed against him, begging him for more. 

He kept his eyes fixed on Elias, acutely aware of every slight shift in his expression; he let those and the sounds that Tim made--increasingly desperate as Jon started to move his hand faster, no longer able to pretend at being patient--guide the movement of his hands.

"Fuck, Jon--" Tim started, then trailed off, his body alternately shifting urgently against him and then going still, tense, like he couldn't decide how to react.

Jon took pity on him and tightened his grip, stroking Tim hard and fast, maybe just a bit too roughly. Tim's body seemed to take that as its cue to go still finally and he sat there, legs spread and head resting against Jon's shoulder, making increasingly incoherent noises.

Jon didn't look away from Elias, didn't even blink as he pressed another kiss against Tim's shoulder, hand tightening around him as he arched and came against Jon's hand. 

Elias licked his lips, just a quick flick of the tongue that Jon would have missed if he hadn't been staring directly at him. "Well done."

Jon shivered and buried his face against Tim's shoulder, his hand moving from Tim's cock to his hip, holding him close as he started to thrust his hips up against him. Tim made a noise that may have been encouragement or may have just been him trying to catch his breath; Jon decided to take it as the latter and pushed upward, rubbing his still-clothed cock against him.

Tim covered one of Jon's hands with his own and gave it a squeeze, shifting his hips just enough to make things go from good to perfect. "Your turn, Jon."

Jon tightened his grip on Tim's hip and mouthed at his shoulder, thrust once, twice against him, then came with a full body shudder.

Across the room, Elias didn't speak or make any noise, but Jon could feel him watching.

\--

Jon left Tim curled up beneath a blanket on the sofa, his head pillowed on his arms and his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since they'd started or since they'd finished, the warm weight of Tim against him while they both dozed and the lack of windows in Elias's office making it nearly impossible to mark the passage of time. It made it feel a bit like being in a tomb, and he wondered why he'd never noticed it before, how odd it was for this room to be so large and well-furnished, but also be so completely cut off from the outside world.

Elias was still seated at his desk but had gone back to reading through important-looking documents, reading glasses perched on his nose and a bored-looking expression on his face, like he hadn't just watched two of his employees have sex on his sofa.

Jon wanted to be irritated, but he was too tired to work up more than a faint sense of disapproval, so he gave up after a full minute of trying and crossed the office as quietly as he could. 

Elias looked up from whatever he was working on and gave him a once over, eyes lingering long enough to make Jon's skin feel even more hot and uncomfortable than it already did. He waited for Jon to take a seat across from him and then stood, moving to a shelf behind him and pouring out a glass of what Jon assumed was very expensive scotch. 

Jon shifted in his chair, finding it hard to get comfortable with his clothes like this, even more rumpled than usual and sticking to his skin in odd ways. He wanted a shower, but the thought of making the trip back to his flat--or maybe even Tim's, if Tim would have him--exhausted him.

Elias handed him the glass and reclaimed his seat behind the desk without a word.

"Thanks," Jon muttered and took a drink. He stared down into his glass and wondered if Elias had ever offered a drink to any of his other employees or if he was just special. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you looked like you could use a drink."

"No, I didn't mean--I meant with Tim."

"Because," Elias said in the tone of voice he used when he thought Jon was being too slow at picking up on something. "It's easier for everyone involved if Tim's anger is directed at me."

Jon shifted his gaze to Elias's face, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that wasn't calm indifference. "How is that easier?"

Elias sighed and gave Jon a look full of equal parts fondness and frustration. "Because he _wants_ to be angry with me."

"Oh." Jon clutched the glass in his hands and stared at Elias, searching for something to say. 

"Things should go much more smoothly now. For all of us." Elias looked at him in a way that made him feel hot and cold at once; Jon shifted in his chair, unsure if he wanted to move closer or further away, but glad that the desk between them and the chair at his back meant that he couldn't easily do either. "And if they don't, I can provide you both with a reminder of the things you've learned here."

"I don't think that will be necessary."

"Let's hope not," Elias said, sounding very much like he meant the opposite.

\--

"You do realize that they don't pay us overtime, don't you?"

Jon looked up to find Tim standing in his doorway, smiling in a way that Jon hadn't seen in a very long time. He ignored the sudden tightness in his chest and frowned, turning his attention back to the statements laid out in front of him across his desk. "I'm aware."

"Great. Then I'm sure you're more than fine with coming out with us for a drink."

"I can't." Jon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, managing to make even more of a mess of it in the process. "I have things that I need to finish up."

"Pretty sure they'll still be here in the morning." Tim eyed the statement in front of Jon skeptically. "You know, it took months to finally get you to start coming in regularly and now that you do, you never want to leave."

"You sound like Georgie. Or Elias."

"I can promise you that I don't sound like Elias," Tim said, looking put-out. "But, you know, if he thinks you're working too much, too…"

"Fine." Jon scowled and gathered the statements up into a messy pile, leaving them there in the middle of his desk as he stood. "I'll get my coat."

It was almost worth the hours of work he was going to lose just to see the surprise on Tim's face. "Really? I thought I'd have to argue more. I had a whole speech and everything."

"I'm sure you'll be able to find another occasion to use it." Jon shrugged on his coat and joined him in the doorway. There was an awkward moment where Jon tried to figure out how close was too close, still not quite sure where things stood between them or what exactly was allowed. He ended up stopping at a slightly-too-far-away distance and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, "Martin said that I should let Basira order my drink. Apparently she's supposed to be good at it."

"She's not half bad," Tim said and stared at him, expression thoughtful. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision and stepped closer, crowding Jon up against the wall. "You're still an idiot, you know."

"What does that--"

It shouldn't have been a shock when Tim leaned down to kiss him, given their current position or the look in his eyes, but Jon found himself gasping softly anyway. He wasn't sure if it was more of a reaction to the feel of Tim's mouth against his, warm and certain, or the realization that he'd never actually kissed Tim properly before. 

Possibly both.

Either way, it was a good kiss. Self-assured, playful, just the right amount of teasing. He bit back a disappointed sound when Tim pulled away just as Jon had started to lift his hands to reach for his waist, ending things much sooner than he would have liked.

Tim took a step back and smiled, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him in against his side before he had the time to overthink things. "Come on, boss. I'll lead the way."

Jon leaned into him, just a little, and forced himself to frown. "I'm fairly sure I'm the one who's supposed to be leading."

"I think you've earned the night off," Tim said and guided him out the door.

Jon didn't try to argue.


End file.
